


Straightening a Crooked Heart

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Bullying, Confessions, Devotion, Fealty, Forgiveness, Gen, Guilt, Healing, Honor, Knight & Squire, Redemption, Shame, potential, spirituality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: King Jonathan shows Zahir his crooked heart isn't beyond straightening.





	Straightening a Crooked Heart

Straightening a Crooked Heart

“Your Majesty.” Zahir appeared unbidden and unannounced in the doorway to the balcony where his knightmaster often disappeared for the sunset communion with the Voice. Although Zahir hadn’t partaken in the rite since he arrived at the palace, he was still a Bazhir and could feel in his blood and bones when it began or ended. 

“You haven’t participated in the communion with the Voice.” King Jonathan beckoned Zahir toward him with a sweeping gesture, blue eyes uncomfortably keen as they focused on Zahir. “Yet I sense you need to take refuge in such a bond whether you’ll admit that to yourself or not.” 

Unable to respond directly to such a discomfiting proposition, Zahir instead said through lips stiff as stone though he knew he was providing his king with no new information, “Mindelan’s maid was kidnapped to prevent her from taking the big exams.” 

“You didn’t know anything about such a nefarious plot, Zahir.” The king’s steady tone made it an incontrovertible statement, not an accusatory question, and Zahir’s heart would have broken in gratitude that his knightmaster was still convinced he had a shred of honor inside him if he hadn’t known that his heart was crooked beyond straightening. 

“No, sire.” Zahir ducked his head, cheeks flaming red as the sun setting in the orange sky. “I bullied her every day for months when she first came to the palace, though, which makes me not so different than those who took her maid.” 

“In my youth, I too made the mistake of being a bully. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, I created my own enemies then.” King Jonathan rested a hand that was gentle enough to offer reassurance yet firm enough to convey unshakeable strength on Zahir’s tense shoulder. “One of the blessings of being young, squire, is that you can remake yourself every day with the rising sun. You can be more than the sum of your past mistakes and more than the problems you created. With each dawn, you can rewrite your history.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Zahir nodded not because he believed what his knightmaster said but because he wanted to believe it. 

“You hear my words but you don’t accept that they apply to you.” The king squeezed his shoulder. “I’ve opened myself to you. Now you must open your mind to me since you’re too much in your own head, and I must show you the outside perspective of what I see when I look at you.” 

“You can do that, sire?” Zahir gaped up at his knightmaster. 

“I’m the Voice,” answered King Jonathan softly, and Zahir understood that meant yes. 

Bracing himself for the ugly sight of all his flaws—his haughtiness, his stubbornness, his prickly pride, his vicious streak, his sneering contempt for those he considered less than himself—through his knightmaster’s exacting eyes, Zahir lowered his guard and invited the Voice into his mind in a manner he hadn’t in years. Instead of his faults, he was overwhelmed by the glimpse of his courage, his willpower, his honor, his integrity, and his unstinting devotion to the Bazhir and to his king. He saw through the king’s bright gaze his shining potential as a warrior and leader not just for the Bazhir but for all Tortallans. 

You see the struggle and the shame—Zahir could hear his knightmaster’s voice echoing in the cavern of his skull—but I see the reason I became the Voice. 

You are my king. Zahir bowed as he thought that he could die content in service to a king such as his. It’s my joy to honor you in all I do. 

It was, Zahir reflected as he sank back into his no longer roiling mind, the least he could do after King Jonathan had revealed to him that he wasn’t beyond redemption—that his heart wasn’t too crooked for straightening after all.


End file.
